


Everything was Beautiful, and Nothing Hurt

by h3l10s



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Author is a Wilbur Soot Apologist, Dream is not a god, Foolish & Dream are brothers, Gen, Ghostbur - mentioned, Hurt/Comfort, In later chapters - Freeform, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Suicidal Thoughts, Takes place sometime before L’Manburg’s final explosion and Butcher Army, Technoblade Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade is a nerd, Technoblade retirement, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Updating as I go, Villain Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings, Wilbur Soot is a bad person, but - Freeform, but foolish is a god & hundred of years old, everything possibly triggering is tagged on the page it occurs, hes a mortal, implied suicidal thoughts, i’m writing this by the seat of my pants, multichapter work, philza is their father, revival, revivebur, wilbur soot is a villain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29696301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h3l10s/pseuds/h3l10s
Summary: Atlas is forced to deal with Icarus after his fall; after his death.Or,Wilbur is Alive again. Technoblade doesn’t know if this is good or bad.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Foolish_Gamers (Dream SMP), Phil Watson & Technoblade - Relationship, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Comments: 20
Kudos: 100





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Started: Feburary 18th, 7:28 am
> 
> Title is a reference to a quote by Kurt Vonnegut. 
> 
> This fic is not going to be canon compliant, and there is little to say other than that. I don’t know what the upload schedule is going to look like, or even if there will be one, but I am interested in keeping up with this work. 
> 
> Ignore spelling/grammar mistakes, I don’t have a beta reader.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> edit: this chapter has been fixed.

The sun beat haplessly against Techno’s back, sweat building at his temple and drawing down his skin as he worked relentlessly in plowing the fields of potatoes. The farms had been his only purpose after his retirement. The repetitiveness of pushing and pulling a hoe, and yanking potatoes out of the ground, and planting seeds were things that Techno found to be a good distraction from the overall silence of his quiet new life, devoid of forming new scars and completely lacking his former bloodlust. It seemed the voices were just as tired of it all as he was, instead giving him better ideas on how to farm, or simply forming a small whisper in the back of his mind, talking of lands far away. The Blood God let Techno have his peace and quiet, often sitting to the side of the field, under an old willow tree and waiting for him to come and sit down next to them. They were all content, willing to sit down and rest for as long as they could. Maybe that was why Techno had been so heartbroken to hear the true voice of his brother. 

“Technoblade,” Wilbur had called, from far across the field, “Technoblade, I’m back!” Techno hadn’t thought much of his brother’s voice, at first, seeing as the ghostly version of Wilbur came around often enough for Techno to just hardly get used to seeing the bloody sweater and white-out eyes of the shell of what his twin had been in life. However, as Techno had peered up to glance at what he thought was Ghostbur, he was faced with something that made his breath catch in his throat. 

The dark brown and dirty coat, overtop a white shirt and a pair of rich black pants, a messy mop of brown curls all belonging to his late twin were not what matched the supposed ghost. Techno dropped his bag of potatoes onto the ground beneath him, standing stock still, eyes wide as a deer in headlights. This version of Wilbur should have died -- was dead. Techno watched his brother die, had watched a red stained sword dig through his twin’s abdomen, and had watched his father cradle the remains of the madman. Techno had mourned, had gone up in the dead of night just after the revolution and sat with his brother’s body in the button room. Techno had read every word inscribed on the walls in that room -- he’d committed them all to memory. 

But now, Wilbur stood in front of him, that wild look in his eyes and a dangerous grin on his face. Techno could only take another hesitant step forward, reaching his hand out slowly, and cupping the side of Wilbur’s face, feeling the heat of lifeblood beneath his fingers. Techno felt something akin to dread pooling into his chest, blocking up his airways, making Techno know that nothing good would come of William Bur Soot being back. Techno already felt how sadness pulled at his heart, the loss of what had been the remains of his brother falling back into place with this version Wilbur -- the version he never wanted to acknowledge -- being there in the false’s stead.

“I’m back,” Wilbur had said, once again, this time with a twinge of confusion at the warrior’s silence, laced in with his cockiness, “and I need your help, Techno. Unfinished business, as it may be, carries over even in resurrection.” Wilbur’s grin had fallen into an easy smile, though Techno knew not to trust the kind look on Wilbur’s face. Wilbur’s charms were often deceptive and led to more trouble than need be. Techno pulled his hand back, only for his wrist to be caught by Wilbur. If Techno had been a simpler man, he’d have missed the way Wilbur’s eyes went worried for a moment, before back to the confident facade. 

“Wilbur,” Techno had let slip, a certain disbelief and confusion clear as crystal in his words, “How? I-- we all watched you die. You --You’re warm again..” Techno could’ve cried, had he not been worried about the results of how his twin got back. Oftentimes, the laws of this world were for balance -- an eye for an eye; a life for a life. Who’s life had been taken for Wilbur’s to be given? Techno knew only one man who would allow such a thing to happen. The idea that their father would’ve given up his life to get Wilbur back was devastating, and Techno wanted to push Wilbur aside and run to find Philza. Techno couldn’t lose another family member. His heart wouldn’t have been able to take it. 

“Relax, blade,” Wilbur said, easily intertwining his fingers with Techno’s, the nickname falling off his lips smoothly even if felt like a dagger pushing into Techno’s side, “Nobodies dead. I just woke up in the button-room again. I don’t really know what happened, but I’m pretty sure nobody’s lost their last life.” Wilbur’s words didn’t ease the tension building in Techno’s shoulder, the lack of complete and absolute sureness in his twin’s voice was concerning beyond belief. Techno knew Phil had tried to resurrect Wilbur before -- the failure had left his father in an all new loop of mourning afterwards. Techno was left to deal with it, himself. 

“Relax,” Techno repeated, incredulously, “My formerly dead Icarus-of-a-brother is in front of me, lifeblood flowing through his veins, and he expects me to relax. You’re supposed to be dead, Wilbur.” Techno couldn’t stop the hurt from piling up into his voice, the anger at his brother for leaving him returning in the shape of a quick lashing with his words, his grip on his brother’s hand tightening momentarily -- not enough to hurt, just enough to tack it onto his words. Techno didn’t know if he wanted to kill Wilbur again himself, or if he wanted to hug him. Wilbur, apparently, decided for him, as he was pulled in. 

“I’m here, though,” Wilbur said, in an almost ‘duh,’ tone of voice, not dissimilar to Tommy’s, “Here now, and for as long as I can be. Don’t think too hard about it.” Techno scoffed at that, but wrapped his arms around WIlbur’s midsection, burying his face in the crook of his twin’s neck, taking in the scent of pine, smoke, and ash. Ghostbur had smelt like something akin to the ocean’s breeze after a particularly rough storm at sea, the cold of his brother’s ghost making his airway’s burn. Techno figured that his brother, alive and well, was different from his ghost, dead and fake.

“Now,” Wilbur started, pulling back just enough to look Techno in the eyes -- still holding his younger twin in his arms, “I need your help, blade.” 

Technoblade was going to regret this.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no update schedule, but at least the chapter is here.

Technoblade was supposed to be retired. He knew that, and he was sure Wilbur had figured it out sometime during the week he’d spent with Techno, at his base. Techno, also, knew he was a fool; Techno knew he would give in if Wilbur kept asking him to help. Even the Blood God’s simple requests turned into quiet demands to help his twin brother -- Techno wasn’t surprised by this, as the Blood God had always been attached to Techno’s other half, always looking out for the other boy as if he and Techno were one being, which Techno supposed, they might as well have been. 

So, here he sat, at his kitchen table, listening to his brother ramble on and on about the different plants he’d found while exploring the forest. Techno knew most of the plants that were native to the environment, having studied them while he could to find out what he could -- and couldn’t -- live off of when he’d first moved to the antarctic. Wilbur seemed to have decided to do the same thing, when he wasn’t figuring out a plan for something he’d yet to fully explain to Techno. 

“There's purple coneflower out there, you know,” Wilbur said, drumming his fingers on the spruce wood table, his other hand holding a glass bottle of water, “They make for a good painkiller. That's what Phil used to give you when you’d complain about being sore after your.. Sparring.” Techno sat at the table, sharpening an old knife that had been a gift from Phil, many centuries before their placement in their current server. Techno hadn’t used the knife for much other than cutting up herbs, but he did cherish it. Techno appreciated anything from his father. 

“Catmint, too,” Wilbur continued, his voice a continued familiar sing-song, “If I remember correctly, it makes for good tea --Oh, and you put it in soup!” Techno nodded, an acknowledging hum slipping past his lips, a quiet and almost non-existent purr coming from the piglin. Techno knew the comfort was simply because he felt the quiet hush of his mind at a calm -- Most likely due to Wilbur sitting with him, talking in a tone he hadn’t heard in many weeks. 

“I have some catmint in the cabinet,” Techno gestured with a tilt of his head towards a makeshift cabinet behind him and above the counter, “I think there's some calliergon giganteum as well, but I usually use it for water breathing pots.” Wilbur glanced towards the cabinet, before standing up dramatically -- pushing the chair he was sitting on out and almost knocking it over in the process -- and waltzing over to the cabinet so he could trifle through it and find whatever it was that he wanted, presumably the catmint. 

Techno didn’t turn his head to look, instead focusing in on sharpening the dagger. There were multiple dents in the weapon, though it was relatively clean due to disuse, but it had been a long time since he’d sharpened it properly. The repetitive movement of the smaller, less useful blade against the knife was something he used to drown out the rest of the world, the only noises and feelings being that of the hand-carved wooden handles and the pang blades going against one another, ridding of the topmost layer of the steel. 

“You’ve been honing that knife for what, fifteen minutes?” Wilbur said, suddenly next to his ear and with his hands on Techno’s shoulders, “Give it a rest, Techno. You’ll wear it down.” Wilbur reached one hand over Techno’s shoulders, blatantly ignoring the tenseness in Techno’s movements, and carefully taking the knives from Techno and putting them on the table. Techno would’ve taken them back, had Wilbur not been so gentle. Techno didn’t know his brother to be gentle, ever. 

“You can’t wear a knife down unless there's no steel left,” Techno said, even if he made no move to grab at the knives, “Those things are nowhere near a lack of steel. I was just fixing it up.” The piglin shrugged Wilbur’s hands off, turning to face his brother in his chair, his twin’s expression unreadable but soft. It reminded Techno of Phil; the look their father would give when one of the boys had expressed some incredibly detrimental and traumatic part of their childhood -- the one they lived before they met the so called ‘Angel of Death.’ Techno always felt like a kid when Philza gave him those looks, even if he was far far from being one. 

Techno’s childhood was, to put it mildly, dangerous. He’d been left to his own survival rather early on, his biological father being a full piglin brute, a creature unused to being the sole caretaker for a child -- and therefore having a lack of paternal instincts. Techno couldn’t have minded, he was far too young to understand any of it. He knew very few things, but he did know he had to fight to survive. The Nether was a dangerous place, and it was unkind to those who lacked skill. Techno was scarred, in every sense of the word, by the time Phil had found him outside the nether portal all those years ago. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Wilbur said, flatly, “You needn’t sharpen something that is already sharp. It's fine as is.” Techno couldn’t argue. Not that he really wanted to, truth be told. Wilbur had always been the better debater in the family; Techno defended himself with his fights, no need for a useless argument when he could’ve solved things with violence. ‘The one universal language,’ the voices reminded him, quietly, ‘Blood for the Blood God’. 

“Make your tea,” Techno sighed, easily distracting his mind, “Phil will be here, soon. And, Wilbur?” Techno paused, waiting for Wilbur to turn to him once again, “Don’t use the hemlock.” 

* * *

Phil was surprised, to say the least, at the sight of Wilbur. If either of his sons had noticed the tears that made his eyes glossy, and his face red and puffy, neither of them had the gull to mention it. Wilbur had let Phil hug him, and Techno had let Wilbur pull him in, the three of them in a tight hug in the middle of Techno’s living room; warm, almost unbearably so, and together, for better or for worse. 

“--And they tried to execute Techno,” Phil began his rant, sourly and his voice hardened, “I wanted to kill them. Techno took one of Quackity’s lives, and gave him a nasty scar.” Techno nodded, visibly uncomfortable with the topic. The death and immediate revival had left him shivering with the bone deep grasp of death, herself. Techno didn’t like thinking about the days after, or the sound of an anvil almost crushing him to death, or the feeling of his hands grasping the iron bars of the inhumane cage. 

“And what did you guys do as revenge?” Wilbur asked, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, “They shouldn’t get away scott-free for almost killing Techno.” Techno glanced over at Phil, before bringing his teacup up to his mouth. Techno hadn’t yearned for revenge. He wanted to live out his exile in retirement, peaceful and without regrets. He wanted to rest, by himself, or even with Phil next to him. 

“We haven’t done anything,” Techno filled the silence, Phil’s gaze fixed now on the ground, “We don’t plan on it, either. I got my vengeance when I gave Quackity something to remember me by. The rest of them are children, or family. Fundy is, after all, your son.” Techno had dealt with enough heartbreak regarding his family. Fundy was not going to be added to the death list -- and certainly not by Techno’s, or Phil’s, hand. Tubbo was a child with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Techno couldn’t help comparing him to the titan, Atlas. 

“They attacked you!” Wilbur protested, his eyebrows furrowing, “You can’t just let them get away with it --they might try it again!” Wilbur was raising his voice, and Phil reached across to put his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, shaking his head. Phil seemed to wordlessly understand Techno’s need for a break; a need for peace and calm sometime in his life. Techno set his cup down on the hand-made coffee table in front of him, the steam rising out of the cup no longer appealing to him. 

“I am tired, Wilbur,” Techno said, simply, “I am done with the violence, for now. If they show up again, I’ll be ready for them.” 

“And, what happens when you’re not?” Wilbur retorted, setting his own finished cup down on the table, “What happens when they catch you off guard?” Techno wasn’t sure how to answer him. Phil was silent next to them. Wilbur stared at Techno, although it felt more like he was staring through him. The silence felt thick, like someone could just about cut it with a knife, unreleased tension flowing through the air and making Techno’s throat feel thick. 

“I don’t die,” Technoblade murmured, even if nobody was sure who the reassurance was for, “They’ve never caught me off guard. They never will.” This time, Phil leaned over and put his freehand on Techno’s shoulder. Apparently, their father decided he was the one who needed comfort. 

“Remember, Icarus,” Techno began, taking a deep breath in through his nose, “The sun is my friend, and I don’t need wax wings to fly.” Phil’s hand was pulled back, from both of them, and the eldest rose from his seat, his wings pulling closer around himself, an upset look on his face. Techno didn’t want Phil to be upset, but he couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from his twin. 

“Boys,” Their father warned testily, as though they were both still children, “Don’t argue. This isn’t what we need, right now.” Techno nodded, simply and silently. Wilbur frowned, but turned his head away from Techno and Phil, opting to stare out the window to the front yard, the snow covered ground sparkling blindly in the sunlight. 

And the days went on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Kudos greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super proud of this chapter, it’s feels rushed. Leave me some feedback? :]

“We men are wretched things,” Phil recited with a murmur, continuing to card his hands through Techno’s hair, sorting it in three different strands so he could braid it, “ and the gods, who have no care themselves, have woven sorrow into the very patterns of our lives.” 

“Quoting Homer at me?” Techno replied with a grunt, continuing to sew the fabric in his clawed hands together, “I’d say I was impressed, but I did give you my copy, didn’t I?” Phil hummed in acknowledgement. The blessing of their quiet moments together -- even if the rest of the world was going to be at their necks moments later -- was a godsend for Techno’s mind. 

“Do you understand what the quote means?” Techno asks, not making any sort of attempt at turning his head to look at Phil, nor did he raise his voice much higher than Phil’s own, “I like the analogy Homer uses.” 

“No, I don’t,” Phil said, easily, even if both of them knew he was a liar, “Explain it to me?” He requested, even if they both knew Techno would’ve, even if he hadn’t asked. Techno nodded, letting his fingers dip into the fabric of the soon-to-be cloak for his newly alive again brother, who needing something other than a raggedy old coat -- the jacket quite frankly brought back many upsetting memories for everyone else in the house; something new wouldn’t hurt -- to protect him from the harsh cold of the outside world. 

“Homer spoke of the way each man is created,” Techno begins, his needle piercing the fabric of the cloak with a light yellow thread, “The sorrow and joy that fills our beings. He used a jar analogy to show how Zeus filled us with happiness and sadness. It implies, in my opinion, that our creator filled us with future emotions.” 

“Hm,” Phil paused his movements, before moving his hand up to the crown of Techno’s head, lightly scratching at his scalp, “I think it means that we have just as much sadness as we do happiness.” Techno relaxed a little further into Phil’s touch; clay for his father to form into whichever shape he so chose. 

“What’s going on in here?” A voice accompanied the sound of the door opening, footsteps, and then the door closing, “I leave for an hour and you two have a cuddlefest going on?” Wilbur’s voice was teasing, though Techno found no malice in his words. He rolled his eyes at his twin, nonetheless. 

“He’s braiding my hair,” Techno responded, tucking a loose strand of the aforementioned pink hair behind his ears, “I’m making you a better coat.” He glanced at the pathetic excuse of a jacket -- it reminded him more of a trench coat than anything -- and let his expression coil into disgust. Techno went back to work on the blue fabric in his hands. 

“What's wrong with my jacket?” Wilbur pouted, sitting down next to Techno on the floor, offering a sweetberry, “I quite like it.” Phil made an unhappy humming noise at his eldest son’s words, before reaching down to grab the sweetberry from his hand. 

“It's dirty,” Phil said, after he swallowed the small berry, “And old, and it's certainly not keeping the cold away.” ‘Amongst other things’, Techno wanted to add onto his father’s words. The coat was the same one Wilbur wore when he died; a hole the size of a sword tip and a dark stain of blood against the dark brown supporting that theory quite well. Techno didn’t like seeing it, and he could hardly imagine how Phil felt about it. 

“On top of that,” Techno began, “We have a theme going.” Wilbur shook his head, with a gentle sigh and a nod. Techno could practically see the smile on his twin’s face, fond and trying to hold it down even if he knew he realistically couldn’t. He could see the way Wilbur’s dimples would press in, and the way he’d glance away as though to try and hide the fact he was smiling at their words -- a silly theme; an excuse and coverup for the reality of not wanting to say it reminded them of his death, of when they lost him for what they thought was forever. 

“A theme,” Wilbur repeated, playing with the collar of the jacket in question, “This jacket was a part of a theme, you know. With Pogtopia -- you know that Techno. Do you still have the cloak you wore during the revolution?” Techno paused his movements, and Phil sped up. It was Techno’s turn to sigh, nodding almost hesitantly. 

“It's upstairs,” Techno glanced at the ladder, “I haven’t worn it since. It got blood and dirt on it. Ash, as well.” Techno took a moment to look at Wilbur, putting a hand on his twin’s knee in an attempt to comfort himself quietly. Wilbur scooted closer, a wordless, and most likely subconscious, consolation. 

The silence that overcame the house after their short lived conversation was not suffocating or awkward as most silences tend to be, but instead comforting, silent admissions flowing through the air. Occasionally, Wilbur held out a sweetberry, and occasionally Techno would take one, though most of them were stolen by Phil. Techno kept sewing, Phil kept braiding, and Wilbur began humming after a little while. 

* * *

It was peaceful, and something the three of them appreciated. Quiet moments of comfort and understanding; a calm before the storm. The three of them yearned for it to last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like where this is heading. And no, I’ve never read the Iliad (or any of Homer’s works.) 
> 
> find me on twt: @h3li0sc3ntric


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment in Wilbur’s night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning, this chapter has implied suicidal thoughts, but only if you know the purpose of the plants mentioned.
> 
> Thank you to my friend JT for helping me figure out some Wilbur stuff so I could actually get this done lfmao

_ Bright lights. Feathers. Explosions. Screaming. Blood. A sharp pain. Darkness.  _

Wilbur awoke with a start, his hands flying to his abdomen, the scar on his chest a physical reminder of his dream. He could hear the explosions ringing out in his ears, the crying of his friends as they screamed for him to stop, and the sight of Phil’s expression, hurt and a grievance only found on a father clear as the crystal water further away from L’Manburg, untouched by the corrupted hands of the others, and himself. 

Silence met his gasp, the absolute quiet of the Antarctic both a welcome change and a sudden departure from the livelihood of bombs in his dreams. Wilbur looked around, the sight of the stone basement around him strangely calming, a safe place for him to sleep calmly and without unnatural disturbances through the night. That didn’t stop his own imagination from scaring him with memories. 

Sitting up in the bed, letting the light blue blanket pool around his waist, messy and unkempt, but keeping him comfortably nested, usually. He pressed his palms into his eyes, relieving them of a slight pressure of tears building up in the corners of his eyes, the memories of his former mistakes haunting him in a way he had thought was over, once he’d been resurrected. 

“My L’manburg,” Wilbur murmured into the air, his voice laced with amusement, a bittersweet laugh following, “Were you ever truly mine? Or did your loyalties fall upon the ground in which you were created?” Wilbur stared down at his hands, once he pulled them off of his eyes. He pushed himself off the mattress, his bare feet hitting the cold stone of the floor and making him shudder, before grabbing the blanket and pulling it around himself, wrapping himself in a mock cloak to keep the cold away for a moment longer. 

Wilbur often was struck with the vivid memory of his own demise, but not as often did he get the chance to think about it, well into the night. Wilbur slipped on his boots, wrapping the cloak tighter around himself as he pushed open the trap door to the upper part of the house -- the storage room, where Technoblade and Phil stored everything they could, in a clean and concise way. Wilbur didn’t mind the neatness, but it still felt weird to see everything so well put together. WIlbur never knew his family to be neat, in any form of the word. 

Wilbur clutched the thick blanket tighter around himself, keeping the cold at bay as best he could. His mind was still clouded with the phantom sound of explosions, the smell of ash, and the feeling of a sharp sword piercing his stomach. He pushed open the door to the outside, freezing snow and the cold of the arctic hitting him almost instantly. Wilbur took a deep breath, the icy air hitting his lungs and making him cringe, a strange burning feeling hitting his chest. It had been a long while since the last time he’d been in such a cold climate for longer than a day or two, so being suddenly hit with his body getting used to the cold was strange. He let a solemn smile take over his expression, his eyebrows furrowing and his eyes raised upwards towards the sky in an almost accusatory manner. 

“I wonder what they’d do if I left again,” Wilbur mused, to no one; to the voices in his own head, “Would they search for me?” He knew they would. If not out of love, out of fear. They all knew what he could do, given the tools. They were all there, on that last day of his L’manburg. Wilbur felt a snowflake hit his nose, his eyes focusing in on the snow falling to the ground, covering the ground in the newest layer of cold. Wilbur sighed, letting his shoulders relax, before turning back around to enter the house, climbing the stairs so he could get himself some tea before going back to bed. Maybe he’d slip some hemlock in it. Wilbur wondered if anyone would notice before dawn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not currently on Twitter, but you can find me on tumblr @ romeohomeo
> 
> (psps if u leave a comment i’ll kith u)


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the leap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a huge fan of how this one felt but i think y’all might enjoy it 👍🏻

The days passed slowly for the triad, the change in seasons coming and going as leisurely as honey drips. Even so, a year passed before the three of them even noticed, unbothered by the rest of the world, and wholeheartedly by themselves -- albeit together -- throughout it all. The snow of November and December had melted into the rivers and lakes of March and April, and soon to the flowers of May and June, feeding mother nature’s resignation easily, just as it did every year of their lives. 

On a late June day, the three of them found themselves outside, a plaid blanket beneath them as they ate together, not for the first time that week. The stars were beginning to spread out amongst the dusk sky lazily, sprawled out like a cat in sunshine. Wilbur had his head in Techno’s lap, the half-blooded piglin lazily drawing his fingers through the mess of brown curls on his twin’s head, while their father read out some book he’d found hidden away in Techno’s trove of literature, tucked away in a closet, and furthermore in a box. 

“--Do you two remember my penpal, from when you were children?” Phil asked, ceasing his reading and tucking a stray feather into the book to mark his place, “The man I said was like me?” His boys looked to him, Techno more so than Wilbur, who was content to just listen as Techno’s lithe fingers made good work in scratching his scalp and putting him at ease. They both made a quiet sound of acknowledgement in response to their Father’s question, one a hum, and the other murmuring a quiet, “yes?” -- respectively. 

“His letters stopped coming in a while back, long before I arrived here,” Phil folded the book closed, putting it in his lap and gently tracing the indented title with his index finger, “I received a letter from him recently. ‘Said hes in these lands, and that something awoke him.” All of Phil’s children knew of the demigod he’d kept in contact with all those years ago, ancient texts and untranslated prophecies finding themselves in Phil’s study when the boys were children, off-limits to the curious hands and prying eyes of the brothers unless Phil was in the room and had given confirmation, which was a rare thing. Even Techno wasn’t allowed to mess with the writings, and hardly knew where his father had been getting them. 

“Why would he be here?” Wilbur asked, his voice drowsier than even he’d expected, “I though Dream had to approve --,” A pause to yawn, “-- who came to this place.” Techno nodded, having been lead to believe the same thing. The only reason he’d gotten in was because of the duel -- along with all the coin he’d gotten, he’d gotten a favor from Dream (something the wannabe deity had offered up with a cocky grin and a barking laugh; something Techno had taunted him with after the end of the fight, in a tavern for people like them a little ways off of the hypixel islands, private and secluded) which had been something he’d cashed in to help Tommy and Wilbur when he’d been called upon to do so.

“Dream  _ did _ approve him, mate,” Phil said, his gaze flickering upwards, where the sky was growing darker as the night progressed, “They’re brothers, or something like that. Which means, Dream is probably a lot more powerful than any of us accounted for.” Techno snorted, rolling his eyes. Dream may have been a madman, but Techno had not underestimated him -- and he was sure his family hadn’t, either. Dream may have been powerful, but Techno knew he was no more powerful than any other skilled man, just more clever than most. 

“Dream isn’t any more dangerous than we’ve already accounted for,” Techno stopped scratching at Wilbur’s scalp for a moment to swap the hands doing such, using the hand previously in Wilbur’s hair to support himself, and the other to curl the brown strands around his fingers, “He’s foolish, and brash, and over confident. He believes himself a God, but he has no true power. Just skill, like the rest of us.” Techno seemed sure of his words, and unconcerned about Dream being a threat. 

“Besides,” Wilbur tacked on, “He won’t bother you two, and he doesn’t even know I’m alive.” Phil seemed to sit on his sons’ words for a moment, a forbearing sigh escaping past his lips. He still seemed disquieted, the worry lines between his eyebrows proving that much, at the very least. Techno understood that uneasiness when it came to Dream, and the likes of his companions, but he agreed with Wilbur. There was no reason for Dream to bother them, seeing as he was -- to standing -- unprovoked and on somewhat good terms with Techno, and there was no chance he would mess with Phil when Techno was around. All three of them knew that. 

“Did you write back, Phil?” Techno asked, switching between the conversation about Dream, and pulling it back around to his father’s letter buddy, “I’d imagine he’d be happy to hear from you again, after all these years.” Techno could remember the many nights Phil spent writing letters to send back to his friend, an individual Techno couldn’t help but joke about being Phil’s secret mistress -- which often resulted in an eye roll from his dad, and if it was a particularly stupid comment, he’d recieve a playful swat on the back of his head. 

“Of course I wrote back,” Phil rolled his eyes -- just in the way Techno had pictured; in the way he was sure Wilbur could imagine, even with his eyes closed -- and he pushed the book off his lap, before leaning back into the blanket on the ground, his gaze still fixed on the stars above the trio, “I had to rewrite the letter so many times, it was ridiculous. I couldn’t figure out how to respond to him. I felt like a schoolgirl responding to her boyfriend.” That comment drew a laugh from Wilbur, and a lazy grin from Techno. 

“Philza-chan,” Wilbur said through his laughter, “Only a little worse than Techno-chan.” Techno gave a light tug on Wilbur’s hair, resulting in a yelp from his twin, and an amused sigh from Phil. It was a domestic sight, lighthearted and loving in its entirety, the three of them reunited as family again, hardly for the first time. They found what they deserved, tranquility and genuine love and adoration for one another, respectively, even if none of the three of them knew how to show it. Maybe they didn’t get this type of time to spend together often, but when they did, they most definitely spent it well. 

— Though, Techno still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread lingering in the back of his mind when he was around Wilbur. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell @ me on tumblr @ romeohomeo

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/Kudos are appreciated. I would love to hear your feedback. 
> 
> I, again, don’t know if this will be an ongoing thing. I might update on twitter, so if you do find yourself enjoying this, you’ll find better commentary on it on Twitter. 
> 
> Yell at me on Twitter: @h3li0sc3ntric


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